Failed Life
by pinkstargummii
Summary: A short imagination runway that served as an outlet of my frustrations with my failed life.
1. Default Chapter

AN::  
  
Another experiment, i.e. I got bored. Or, I got writers block on my Topaz story.  
  
"But if I can stop by your side, I'm sure I'll go to the greatest paradise."  
  
Music:: #9 "I'd rather be in love" by Michelle Branch ~The Spirit Room~  
~ Pucca (.~) =O (.__.) *punch*  
..::.. Failed Life ..::..  
..::.. Chapter One ..::..  
  
..::.. Painting White Roses Blue ..::..  
I'll never forget the day he let me go. Just like that, we parted hands and I went my way, he went his. The promise still stands strong in my mind; he will come looking one day. And until then, I shall wait, with my heart on my sleeve and his name on my lips. But can I live that way? Forever and ever? Will my childhood dreams last for all time? I don't know, you tell me. As we unfold this story of the loved and the lost, may it fill you with hope and dreams of finding true love.  
  
I don't believe I regret it, but it broke my heart just the same. I left him standing in the basement of what our future dream would have been. And every time I pass that place, I have this magnetic urge to fly down the steps and fling open the door just to see him again. And cry to him about how they were starving me and that all I ever seem to do is being willed to be pampered up and flashed by cameras.  
  
They Yaza Senior Fashion show seemed so long ago, like a faded dream, the blue roses had shed and died, as my fantasy dream with George. Referring to him in third person seems so impersonal, as if he were merely another client, wanting a model through the agency.  
  
President had been so kind to me, immediately after I graduated, she shaped me up right away. Willed me to eat less so that I would seem even taller than my 5' 8". Made me by the right clothes so that I would fashionable even when I simply went to interviews.  
  
My mother, my wonderful sarcastic sadistic mother. Every magazine I had been in, ever cover I was on, she clipped it and pinned it on a bulletin board in the kitchen. It was as if she was secretly approving and encouraging me to be all that I can be.  
  
Nothing made sense anymore, my failed attempt at love, my diet, my mother, my life. But most of all, me. I'd find myself shaking at my frailty by simply watching the monitor of the catwalk. I'd find myself smelling the ting of George's cologne wherever I went. And whenever I walked by a flower shop, I never think twice before storming in and coming out with an armful of white roses.  
  
I don't know who I am anymore, all throughout my cluttered apartment, there are empty vodka bottles in which sat white roses that were dyed blue. Am I insane? George, am I insane? Am I going insane without you? Am I going insane for you?  
  
George, why won't you answer my silent pray? Why won't you call me, because I've left my phone on for god knows how long?  
  
To hell with it, Miwako's message can wait. I sank back onto my satin couch, blared the stereo, and sat blankly at what I might do between now and tomorrow. I popped open a bottle of vodka and took a swig, tonight I'll be painting white roses blue.  
  
-=-==-=-=-=-=-  
  
Little note:  
  
Probably won't be continuous, dunno, we'll see. *wink* ~ Carrie 


	2. Diary Entries

AN::  
  
Various responses from random people have encouraged me to continue, also, I'm still stuck on my other stories. Hehe.  
  
With this story, I'm experimenting with a different style in the format of tangible thoughts and subconscious knowings. I think it has more of an artistic dot to it; but if you don't get it, don't worry, you're not alone, no one understands me anyways.  
"It's become a habit to lay sideways and face towards the left."  
  
Music:: Landslide by Dixie Chicks  
~ Pucca  
  
..::.. Failed Life ..::..  
..::.. Chapter Two..::..  
  
..::.. Diary ..::..  
I still went to school, and I still saw Hiro. He seemed to worry; not that I can tell, seeing that I sit behind him. Ignorance is a bliss.  
  
-Is he thinking about me too?  
I began to find that the people whom I call classmates were all so stuck in their own circle of life like a swirl of water going down the toilet. And their futures going down, and down, and down.  
  
-I'm sure that there are lots of girls out there who will fit his clothes, like Kaori Aso.  
Sometimes, I find myself walking too confidently down the street, whether by myself or with acquaintances from the agency. And it's like the people are extremely dumbstruck and they don't know how to react so they stare or whisper or peek out from behind books and newspapers because anything or anyone with such confidence and flair and blatant unapologetic disregard for trying to conform to tradition and convention makes them wonder if maybe they're witnessing some kind of revolution or evolution or visionary idyllic proud wild undaunted imagination.  
  
-I think I'm turning into a very idealistic person like George.  
Strolling along the cutesy stores that only the underground world would know about, I paced from stand to stand where they had jewelry of any kind. Everything was so genuine and authentic; it made me want to cry knowing that only these absolute accessories are hand made. And that such dedication was poured into these delicate and exquisite rare finds.  
  
-I looked for blue butterflies.  
Last night I dreamt a dream. In which I was a black rose, extending from the base of a tree. The tree had spiked leaves and many carvings; a poof pink bird sat in one of the branches. And there in the sky, was a butterfly that was so brilliantly blue; it hurt my eyes to look at it. The butterfly landed on me; I felt so happy. Then someone came along and crushed me. And like a mist, the dream faded. I distinctively saw the tree as Arashi since he is so grounded, and the pink bird as Miwako, seeing that it is her favorite color. The blue butterfly was George.  
  
-Life seemed pointless yet full of promises at the same time.  
Today, Suguru demanded the ten bucks I owe him for his silence in a visit after his study session. What a lie. Even if he did tell, he doesn't know all that goes on in the night.  
  
-Someone said I looked pale, must have been Shimamoto.  
All that love should be; it isn't. Love is like a spontaneous summer storm, sudden and unexpected. The sky would turn dark, all hope would prevail, and the rain would come down. But the storm would reach the eye, and it's quiet; the winds outside don't roar, only rustle. And for a moment, you can find that unwavering peace within yourself. And for a moment, that brazen strength you never knew you had will arise. And for a moment, you will find yourself in paradise.  
  
-Love is only as good as love gets.  
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Whadaya tink? (.~)V Yeah, kinda weird I know. 


	3. Another day of work

AN::  
  
*Note to self* Extremely stuck on other story. Have mentally put it on pause. Will go back to it if inspiration arises.  
~ Pucca  
..::.. Failed Life ..::..  
..::.. Chapter Three ..::..  
  
..::.. Another day of work ..::..  
Tiredness washes over my feet. Brash, provocative words run from the phone I clutched to with dear life. My alarm clock rings at the usual five thirty; Shimamoto can really yell. I yawned and simultaneously nodded, forgetting that I was on the phone and she could not see my agreement. She was rudely calling me at five-ish in the morning to tell me that somehow I had not posed enough outfits all yesterday and the client has more photos on request. Which means more money to make, more smiles to flash, more cups of coffee to keep me going throughout the day.  
  
Shimamoto was bagging on me about how I should wake up earlier on Saturdays so we can fit in more time in the morning for hair and make-up. And if I wake up early, then I can also have my lunch time delayed to do squeeze another modeling session in the afternoon right before dinner. Then I can be let go at seven to nap over at Miwa's then we'll fluff up and either go to the Kitty Walk for cute accessories or the bar Crimson Sky to do more mingling. I never get home before twelve, which is a curse because then I would only get at most five hours of sleep.  
  
I didn't bother to make myself look extremely attractive as I groped in the dark for something to wear while brushing my teeth and keeping the phone in the niche between my ear and shoulder. I cut off Shimamoto's rambling by telling her that I was heading over as fast as possible. Pulling an oversized knitted sweater over my head, and then reached down for random shoes, I realized the head hole on the sweater was too big and drooped over one shoulder. Oh, screw it, tossing a beret over my flat hair, I picked up my keys and phone and accidentally slammed the door a little too hard. Mikash upstairs wouldn't be too happy; newspaper editors and their silence, jeez.  
Walking isn't a real smart thing to do when you're cutting all the red lights in the semi-blue sky and cars could kill you at any second. Especially convertibles driven by tall guys with blue hair and blue eyes.  
  
"Fucking shit!" Maybe I'll die here on the Tokyo pavement street; the towering buildings seem to sway as if in an earthquake as I laid there on the ground, my head is inches away from the tire of some car. I closed my eyes and rested my mind. I bet I looked like some gothic angel of death in my black sweater, black beret, black boots and clutching my cell phone over my abdomen.  
  
"Caroline?" Oh, jeez. Did it have to be him? He smelled the same as always.  
  
"Hm?" I smiled nonchalantly and simply propped up my feet so my knees were bent. Maybe Shimamoto wouldn't be very mad if I was late and hurt at the same time.  
The red plush chair felt cold and irritating underneath my bum. And the buzzing of the florescent light hummed like a cricket on a summer evening: annoyingly.  
  
"Yukari, did you have to get yourself nearly killed at five thirty in the morning?" Shimamoto was indeed mad that I was late and hurt at the same time. But nooooo, Mr. Koizume, our perfect client was not in trouble for nearly killing me at five thirty in the morning.  
  
"Is it possible to cover up that patch with a hat since it's so close to her hairline?" No really, we're going to cover it up with a wig.  
"Look this way, tilt your head. Yes, yes. That's beautiful." Some photographers are so gay. They think models are blond brainless dumbass-es who have to be directed at which direction's left or right. Sighing lightly, I turned to my other-left and tried to capture that nature essence which George wants. Some people are so demanding.  
  
After seven outfits, I was pooped. I want to go home. Unfortunately, Shimamoto caught up with me and dragged me out to lunch at some fancy restaurant with George. He didn't seem to mind; fine, neither will I. Well, I suppose he was being extremely kind, seeing that I got to wear and keep an extra outfit. Maybe he does care.  
  
But somehow, I think he wanted me to look extra good for the sake of himself. Tube-top black lace summer dress with matching jeans and high boots, sure why not, oh yes, plus a hat. And we mustn't forget the short little matching gloves.  
I said as less as possible, and when I did talk, I usually mumbled into my salad. And all throughout lunch, I kept praying that Miwako would call, or maybe even my mom, just to see how I'm doing. Luckily, my phone beeped towards the end of main course, thank god. Whadda ya know, it's Suguru.  
  
Hey sis, wanna treat me to lunch? [sounds enthusiastic]  
  
Are you out of allowance again? [looks suspicious]  
  
Maybe, maybe not. [ehehehe..]  
  
Did you spend all of your allowance on Chobits again? That's sick. [shakes head]  
  
Well, it was only "Zipper".  
  
Are you kidding me? You read Zipper? It's a fashion magazine [ehh.]  
  
So? There's Paradise Kiss in the back.  
  
Stop stalling, get to the point. [look like pms-ing]  
  
I want lunch.  
  
I'll pick you up outside your prep school in ten minutes.  
  
Done. [sounds happy]  
  
--Dial tone--  
  
Said and done. But I still felt guilty about ditching in the middle of the meal to eat chocolate banana parfait with my brother. But thinking about it won't make it better, but then not eating my parfait would make it mushy.  
That night, I went down Kitty Walk by myself though I didn't buy anything. Finally, I went into Bistro Bar near the end of the walk; a band was playing. I heeded them no mind, the darkness would hide me in its cloak. Maybe it will shield me from the evils of the day, I don't know, darkness is a funny thing.  
  
I returned to my apartment after I dropped in a convenience store and bought myself some nail polish; I decided to paint it a metallic orange. But I think I fell asleep in the couch. With the TV left on. And drowning in my pile of schoolwork. And various mangas that I had bought out of whim. And the scattered deep blue bottles of blue and white roses.  
Welcome to my mixed-up world. Where feelings clash, and emotions are splashed as sunny yellow or peachy pink. Where your best friend's name is A- little-bit-blue-Miwako. Where you're curiously dependent on coffee, the very thing that you live for. Where the only thing pushing you in life is a sweet memory of long ago. And in dreams, you can't help but see a fluttering blue butterfly. Maybe we're both a bit wacko. 


End file.
